Chapter 27 Lena
TWENTY-SEVEN
LENA
The dress Vivika chose for her was like nothing she’d ever seen.
Every detail, from the silver threads lacing Lena’s forearms to the almost metallic-looking corset cinching her waist, had been chosen to make a statement. To show the citizens of Novobyrg that their Fateweaver was exactly where she was supposed to be.
Her train of skirts dragged along the floor as she walked, the silver shimmer woven into the fabric giving it the appearance of starlight on a clear lake. Like every outfit the royal tailor had given her so far, the dress made Lena feel beautiful—and powerful.
It was a dangerous feeling, but it was one she needed if she was going to get through tonight.
Iska and Brother Dunstan had spent most of the afternoon going over her breathing exercises, letting her take a break just long enough for Vivika to take a few hurried measurements.
The entrance to the Zvaerna acolyte’s hidden room remained closed, the faint symbols engraved into the stone door catching Lena’s eye whenever she approached the chamber.
Thanks to her ongoing lessons with the High Priest, Lena had managed to get close enough to it without doubling over in pain or, thank the Sisters, triggering her connection to Dimas.
She’d spent most of the evening wide awake, trying to decide if it was worth going down there with Maia asleep in her room.
In the end, the thought of Maia waking up and following Lena down into the tunnels had been enough to make Lena stay put.
Not that she’d have been able to do much if Lena had gone down there, anyway.
Lena was no closer to translating the symbols on the door to the acolyte’s hidden chamber than she’d been when she’d first discovered it.
But the Rite of Ascension was now less than two weeks away, and if the mysterious note left for Lena meant what she thought it did, she didn’t have time to waste.
She would get this ridiculous ball over with, and then, once she was safely back in the Fateweaver’s chambers, Lena could get back to focusing on severing this damned bond.
For now, though, she had to play her part.
Ioseph walked a few steps ahead of her, his usual uniform replaced with a navy-and-silver regalia that brought out his rich, dark skin.
Lena had caught Dimas staring at him more than once as the prince had gone over their plan, his cheeks flushing whenever the guard caught him looking.
Ioseph came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs and, after peering out of a small crack in the door, gestured for Lena to follow him.
They emerged into a large, grand hallway, the sconces on the walls bright with recently lit flames. Dimas was already waiting for them, standing a few inches away from the closed throne room doors. Next to him stood Brother Dunstan, Iska, and two other people she didn’t recognize.
The first was a slender, broad-shouldered man in a sweeping navy cloak, his dark hair cropped close to his head.
The royal symbol was pinned to his chest, marking him as a member of the Ehmar family.
This must be the regent, she thought, remembering Iska’s lessons.
With Vesric Ehmar and his wife dead, the only other living royal left beside Dimas and his cousins, Milos and Iska, was Vesric’s younger brother, Roston, who was officially in charge during Dimas’s absence.
“You must be Lady Lenora,” the regent said, dipping his chin and placing a hand flat against his chest. The gesture was meant to be one of respect and reverence, but on him, it held the faint undertone of mockery. “I am Regent Roston Ehmar. It is an honor to finally meet you.”
The regent’s gaze fell on her, and something in Lena’s gut twisted as she forced herself to smile. She was saved from having to reply when the second stranger, a dark-haired woman with sharp green eyes, spoke.
“It is an honor to meet you, Fateweaver Lenora. I am General Alraen.” The woman bowed her head. “Your arrival has been a long time coming. I hope you’re ready to serve your people.”
The woman’s accent was stronger than most of the people Lena had met at the palace. She was tall and well-toned, and there was a faint smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. If it wasn’t for the military uniform she wore with such pride, Lena might have even considered her attractive.
Lena lifted her chin, not needing to fake the sincerity in her voice when she gave her answer. “I am.”
There was a moment of heavy silence. There was no way the general could know the double meaning behind Lena’s words, but she held her gaze a fraction too long, her threads flickering wildly in the air around her.
As if she were choosing whether to question her Fateweaver or to keep her thoughts to herself.
“Everything is prepared for your arrival,” Dimas interrupted.
“The court has gathered in the throne room, and each of the noble families who reside in the city or nearby are in attendance, alongside ambassadors from a handful of our neighboring empires.” The prince’s anxiety stretched through their bond, churning Lena’s stomach. “Are you ready to do this, Lenora?”
She didn’t have much of a choice. If she refused, she’d lose what little trust she’d managed to build with the prince. Trust she’d need if she was going to have to trick him into breaking their bond.
“I’m ready.”
Lena’s heart was a thunderous thing in her chest as Dimas nodded, and with one final glance at the regent and the general, he ordered Ioseph to open the throne room doors.
Lena hadn’t been in a crowd since leaving Deyecia, and the sudden flood of dozens of threads had her power surging in her veins.
Even with the calming tonic Lena had asked Iska to provide, Lena’s chest still tightened.
The rumbling of the crowd and the pattering of footsteps around her faded away as Lena fought against the pull—the need—to bend the threads of everyone in the throne room to her will.
She sucked in a deep breath, holding it in her lungs until the burning in her chest overtook her fear.
I am in control, Lena thought, willing her power to settle as she released her breath.
She still hadn’t mastered Brother Dunstan’s techniques well enough to brandish her abilities at will …
but the exercises helped Lena keep her magic—and her bond to the emperor—at bay.
For a little while, at least.
Dimas led their small group into the throne room, and Lena’s urge to turn around, to run from all of this, slowed her steps.
But there was no turning back now. She had already stepped in front of a crowd of elegantly dressed strangers, a hush falling over the room as every eye fixed on her and pinned her with an awful mix of curiosity and uncertainty. The doors at her back clicked shut.
No one spoke as the emperor’s procession made its way down the center of the room, but the energy of everyone’s threads gathered around Lena like an impending storm.
By the time they reached the far end of the throne room and came to a stop before a slightly raised dais, Lena had opened fresh half-moons in her palms. It wasn’t the best way to deal with her emotions, but for now, the pain was the only anchor strong enough for her to latch onto.
She followed Dimas up onto the dais with her heart in her throat. The rest of their group followed a moment after, forming a semicircle around her and the emperor as, together, they turned to face the people of Wyrecia.
Dozens of threads, from silvery white to icy blue, wove around the crowd, a shimmering, intricate web connecting them all.
Lena waited for the overwhelming surge of her power.
For her fear to wrap its fist around her and take hold.
But it never came. Instead, as the Fateweaver’s magic inside of her rose, as power flooded her veins in front of all of these people—people who had sat idly by and reaped the benefits from the empire’s sins against those it deemed unworthy—Lena’s fear was replaced by something new.
Strength.
“Thank you all for gathering at such short notice,” Dimas said, his voice echoing against the stone.
“As you all know, my father and his Fateweaver, Lady Sefwyn, are no longer with us. Whilst their passing is a great loss to our empire, we must find comfort in the knowledge that they have met the fate Naebya wove for them, and that their spirits now rest peacefully at her side. I know some of you have begun to consider that the rumors surrounding my right to the throne might be true,” he said, his gaze traveling over the crowd, “but have no doubt: Wyrecia is as strong as it has ever been, and Naebya has not forsaken us. To that end, may I introduce you to Lady Lenora. Your new Fateweaver.”
That was her cue. She tried not to pay too much attention to the web of threads glistening through the crowd as she took a slight step forward, her chin raised.
“I am blessed to stand before you today.” She recited her words carefully. “Before His Majesty showed up at the temple where I resided, I was unaware of my fate …”
Lena paused, heat creeping up her neck as she took in the varying expressions of the people staring back at her. She’d expected the uncertainty, the doubt. Had prepared herself for it.
She had not prepared herself for the awe.
It shone in the eyes of more than half of those in attendance, a reverence so pure, so devout, that Lena’s knees threatened to buckle beneath it. The fact that she’d done nothing to deserve it didn’t seem to mean anything to these people; to them, her mere presence was enough.
Swallowing hard, Lena found a pillar in the center of the crowd to focus on. She was grateful that Maia had been too exhausted to attend tonight, and that Finaen’s new duties meant he was stationed elsewhere. If they had been in the crowd, she wasn’t sure she’d have been able to get through this.
“Naebya herself concealed my identity from Prince Dimas these past few years as a test. One that His Majesty has passed, proving that he is the rightful heir to this empire.” Lena paused, letting her words sink in before she continued.
The reverence in the room only seemed to grow, and as Lena continued, it took every ounce of control she had to focus on her words and not the web of silver threads dancing before her.
“It is an honor to be the vessel for Naebya’s gift, and as your chosen Fateweaver, I promise to do everything in my power to protect Wyrecia. Bless Naebya.”
Lena bowed her head, hoping the action hid the tears those words brought to her eyes. Mada, forgive me.
“Bless Naebya!” The crowd echoed her words back to her, a divine chorus that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
When they had fallen silent once more, Dimas spoke. “This evening is one of mourning, but also one of celebration.” He paused, his gaze sweeping pointedly over the crowd. “Tonight, we honor my father and Lady Sefwyn in memory and welcome Wyrecia’s next Fateweaver. To Lady Lenora!”
Dimas raised his cup in a silent signal and music soared, a beautiful blend of lutes and wooden pipes as a handful of servants with trays filled with spiced cakes and various pastries began circling the room.
The space filled with lively chatter, but every now and then gazes from the crowd would drift toward Lena, threads flickering as the court of Emperor Dimas Ehmar decided what to make of their new Fateweaver.
The prince himself was currently eyeing the three thrones situated upon a raised dais before a large, tri-paneled window.
After a moment of hesitation, he slid into the center throne, the lines of his body tense as he gestured to the seat to his right.
“The Fateweaver sits to the right of the crown,” he said.
Lena forced herself to move toward the seat.
To lower herself into it whilst simultaneously hoping the prince could not tell she was secretly picturing what it might be like to set it on fire.
How many previous Fateweavers had sat on this very throne, surrounded by luxury whilst innocent people fought to survive?
How many of them had passed judgment on the very people Lena sought to protect?
“You did well.” Dimas’s voice cut through her growing panic. Some of it must have slipped down the bond between them, because he was watching her as if she might flee at any moment. “I think our display was enough to get the court and most of the foreign ambassadors on our side again.”
It was a subtle reminder of why she’d agreed to do this.
Lena gripped the edges of the throne’s arms. “At least now you don’t have to worry about rebellion.
” The emperor’s brow creased, his threads flickering.
It was obvious he was hiding something, and if Lena could get him to tell her what, then she was another step closer to earning his trust. She shifted in her chair, making a show of worrying at her bottom lip. “You don’t, right?”
Dimas opened his mouth. Closed it again. “The threat of rebellion has always hung over Wyrecia.”
Lena bit down on the inside of her cheek. It was a courtier’s answer, vague and dismissive. It was going to be harder to get him to talk than she’d first thought.
Think, Lena. It was clear he was worried about his people rebelling, and whatever had happened at his father’s funeral had been bad enough for him to risk revealing her tonight. She just needed to push him a little further. To play on that fear.
Frustratingly, General Alraen approached before Lena could come up with anything. She bent down to Dimas’s level, whispering so only he could hear. A second later Dimas straightened in his throne, his lips thinning into a tight line.
He gave a curt nod, and the general retreated. Dimas waited until she was a few feet away before speaking again. “The ambassador of Verlond has arrived. He wishes to formally introduce himself.”
Verlond. The kingdom the Raven was smuggling heretics into. “That’s the continent that refuses to join your peace treaty, isn’t it?” she asked, her mark tingling. If Verlond made an alliance with Wyrecia, there would be nowhere safe for those who refused the Zvaerna’s teachings to go.
Nowhere safe for her to go, once this was all over.
Dimas didn’t get the chance to reply. The general was walking toward them again, her expression pinched. But Lena wasn’t looking at her.
Her gaze had found the tall, olive-skinned man at the general’s side.
The man in a tight-fitting tunic with a mop of dark, curly hair and eyes the same deep brown as tree bark.
Eyes that, in the aftermath of watching his friend turn into a korupted, had burned with a ferocity Lena had felt in her very soul.
They don’t get to win.
“Your Majesty, Lady Lenora,” General Alraen said, “may I introduce to you Casimir Korvus, the royal ambassador of Verlond.”